experienced Christian speaks with earnestness about the truth, because his heart is full of it, and it may be that we deride him so volubly and freely, because our hearts are full of aversion to it. It is a very convenient word that "cant." We try to persuade ourselves, when we use it, that we are virtuously indignant at a flippant familiarity with things divine, while the fact is, if we will but be honest with ourselves, that we are viciously hostile to those very things themselves. Many a sage and venerable Christian has been superciliously sneered at as a canting hypocrite by some metaphysical young theologian, because he spoke the truth freely as he felt it in his heart, unembellished and unobscured by modern technicalities, but simply pure as it is in Jesus. And if any one had heard the vapouring invectives with which the Christian was reviled, it might not at first have occurred to him, that they would not have been quite so virulent and unfeeling, if their indignant declaimer had not been ashamed of the Gospel of Christ.

If this then is anything like a true representation of the disposition of many of those familiar with the sound of truth, towards the spirit and essence of the Gospel, it may be well to try for a moment to show the inconsistency and ingratitude of such a spirit.

It is inconsistent with the condition and wants of man. That condition is one of entire dependence upon God's mercy. A condition whose exigencies he is aggravating every day of his life. Born in a fallen state, from which only God can raise him, his debts to the Eternal becoming heavier and heavier with almost every breath he draws, utterly unable, if he only knew it, to help himself even to any temporal, much less any spiritual blessing, what is man that he should be ashamed of the Gospel of Christ?

It is inconsistent with his habitual practice. That practice is daily and hourly to sin against God; often to do that of which even sinners would be ashamed. Is it consistent for him who is not ashamed to outrage conscience, and to violate every pure and holy principle, to be ashamed to take the remedy? The thief, whose seared and hardened soul scruples not to steal the property of his neighbour, would surely not be ashamed to take a rich and liberal gift if freely offered him; or the bankrupt, whose im

providence has plunged him in poverty and ruin, will not refuse the friendly offer which would cancel all his debts and reinstate him in the world. How then shall man, who well may blush to read the frowning letters written on his own heart, refuse to take the water which can wash out all those characters, and make the stained and filthy casket white as snow?

to us.

It is inconsistent with the dispensation under which we live. That is a dispensation of very clearly revealed light. We have not the same excuse for being ashamed of the Gospel as the men of Rome in the days of Paul. To them it was a novelty, and perhaps wild and improbable to their minds. But it is no novelty We have been cradled within the sound of its voice and in sight of the temples of its professors, we have been instructed in its precepts, and nurtured in its truths, we have been born, as it were, with the fuel deposited and arranged in our hearts, we know the source whence the kindling fire may be drawn, and it is at our peril that we neglect the only means which can draw down that purer than Promethean fire, that can make those dormant faggots glow with holy brightness.

It is inconsistent with the truest wisdom and policy; or rather, to use plainer and more expressive language, it is inconsistent with common sense. We use the term common sense in the low acceptation in which it is received generally among men, an acceptation which makes it almost synonymous with self-interest. Surely, if it is the greatest folly in earthly matters to neglect any legitimate opportunity of advancing our own interests, and of promoting our own aggrandisement, it is the highest wisdom to seek by every lawful means the attainment of these ends, and not to be ashamed of the honourable labour whereby they must be secured. Now the proper end of all gain is the attainment of pleasure and happiness, and it is with this object that men work and toil with earnestness. The truest happiness is that which will last the longest, that which is freest from interruption, and purest in its pursuits. The truest wisdom, then, is that which toils for such a happiness as this. Now it is obvious that no such joy is to be found in this crumbling world; wealth cannot buy it, influence cannot obtain it, but there is a way by which all men can gain it if they will, and that is by believing and receiving

the Gospel of Christ. It is offered as a free gift. Eternal life to those who are hurrying to eternal death, unfading light to those who are receding towards blackness and darkness for ever. This has been preached for us, and is offered to us all; is it not then the wildest folly, the blindest infatuation is it not inconsistent with self-interest and common sense to be ashamed to seize the prize?

And if it is inconsistent with these lower and baser motives, how much more is it repugnant to those nobler and purer feelings which ought to guide our minds and influence our hearts! Think of the ingratitude of spurning that which has been bought at such a price, and of rejecting a gift so free, yet so unspeakable! Apart from the hideous absurdity of human pride, the inane and empty vanity of little, feeble, fallen men, making them blush to accept salvation at the hand of a forbearing God-apart from the wild infatuation which leads the drowning wretch to thrust aside the arm that would pluck him from the depths-apart from the sickly stolidity which impels the hapless culprit to read his sentence with a sneer of forced contempt, or to survey the gibbet upon which he is to die with an affected smile of feigned indifference-apart from the almost ludicrous folly of a dying sinner, ashamed of that which would save him from hell-fire, and through his idiotic pride actually reconciling himself to eternal woe, and getting ready for perdition with a sham composure, rather than turn one repentant glance to Calvary-apart from all this, think of the foul ingratitude of despising the mercy thus extended in the rejected Gospel-mercy forgiving so much sin, and offering so freely so much bliss! We can never fully realise the depth of the ingratitude of being thus ashamed of the Gospel, because we can never fathom the profound sea of love from whence it flows. But our astonishment at the thanklessness of those who despise it, will bear proportion to the degree in which we recognise and appreciate the pity and the tenderness which moved the Father, against whom all men had sinned, to send His Son to die for them, and which winged the Son upon His willing errand of salvation, to become poor, that we, through His poverty, might be rich, and to die, the just for the unjust, to bring us unto God. There is no holier study, no sublimer

cross.

theme of contemplation than the love of God. And if men would but realise this glorious truth, in all its simple though stupendous fulness, "God is Love "-if they would but believe that He is not willing that any should perish, but that all should taste the great salvation; that the very hairs of their head are all numbered, and that not a sparrow falleth to the ground without His knowledge-if they would but believe that like as a Father pitieth His children, so does God pity those who call upon Him-if they would, in short, look to Him as their Father, not their Judge, and come to Him like children, not like slaves, the fatted calf would be killed to celebrate the return of more prodigals than now turn back from sin, and there would be more frequent songs and more constant joy among the angels of God over repenting sinners coming to the This habit of familiarizing our minds with the love of God and the condescension of the great Redeemer would be the most effectual mode of conquering the pride which would make us ashamed of the Gospel of Christ, and would show to us, in all its crying deformity, the black ingratitude of such contempt. When we think of our fallen, ruined state by sin, and of the just doom we had thereby incurred, and then of that God who might justly have burned the world and all upon it, in unquenchable fire, looking with pity upon His erring and rebellious creatures, and casting about, as it were, in the deep and tender recesses of His mind and heart, for some grand scheme to snatch them from the frowning doom they were drawing on themselves, and at length sending down His only Son, in whom He was well pleased, to shed His blood to cleanse away their guilt-when we think of Jesus bearing on His heart our load of sin, weeping tears of blood at our cold and senseless apathy, and pleading for us ever, though our sins cry out for vengeance-can we then be ashamed of the Gospel of Christ? It is surely impossible. Yet many are ashamed of it. Is this because they never think of these things? Has conscience never told them they are sinners? Have they never felt they need a Saviour, and must have one, or perish for ever? O, my fellow-sinner, you have no Saviour if you will not give up your pride; but you have one who will be your Saviour, if you will surrender your self-sufficiency, and

come to Him. You are surely not ashamed to do this! Where is your gratitude? He was not ashamed to endure contempt and death for you, and yet you are ashamed to take eternal life from Him! Why, if all men were like you, we should have a God crucified in vain; a crown purchased, but no wearer to place it on his brow. But you stand out (thank God!) from the millions who have taken the crown, and are wearing it now. Who has most reason to be ashamed, you who grovel about in the ragged filthy garment of your own pride and lust, or those who wear the spotless robe made white in the blood of the Lamb? But still you may come. He calls you still-though you have spurned His mercy, He offers it again. Think of the spectacle you present to angels and to men; a ruined, dying sinner, gazing coldly at a dying Saviour, and listening without a tender emotion to His last prayer, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do." A stupid ingrate, jauntily sneering at a Saviour's tears, and spurning a Redeemer's love, coquetting with death, while Christ stretches out His arms and cries, "ye will not come to me that ye might have life!" and with Calvary before you, yet too proud to come; with the spear, and nails, and thorns full in view, and yet too cold to feel; and not content with simply turning from the great salvation to tread your dismal road of death, you must needs trample underfoot the blood of the atonement, and carry that which might have made you white as snow, to mark your footsteps on the path of hell; and last of all striking down the cross, on which you might have left your sins and sorrows, and bridging over the black gulf of ruin and perdition, with that blood-stained finger-post that points to glory, honour, and immortality, and eternal life. If wisdom does not cry, if understanding does not lift up her voice loud enough to move your reason, surely outraged pity, weeping sympathy, and dying love speak earnestly enough to touch your hearts. O, let it not be said in answer to the question, Why will ye die ?" "I die because I am too proud to live." There is no beast so fierce and tameless but it will fawn upon the hand which tends it, and yet a man who professes to have sense to know, and a heart to feel, is ashamed of that (and spurns it) which would feed his dying soul with life eternal.